


3 AM Walks

by thilesluna



Series: That Lunael Collection [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: FAHC, M/M, detective miles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilesluna/pseuds/thilesluna
Summary: 71. “Kiss me, quick!”





	

Miles likes this time of night, honestly. He likes the time when the city is stuck between sleeping and waking. 3 AM in Los Santos is _beautiful_. Most of the building lights are off or dimmed, the traffic is nonexistent, there are barely any people walking around, and it’s like the city finally has a tiny slice of peace. He walks a few blocks around his apartment when he can’t sleep, taking in the sights and sounds, or more accurately, the lack of them.

It’s a good night for walking, he thinks.

Miles rounds the corner, taking his time and making his way slowly down to the end of the block. This is the neighborhood he patrolled as a beat cop and he had loved it so much that he moved here when he had saved up enough money to live on his own. The streets are second nature to him, the path he takes to get back home and the quirks of the side walks are burned into his brain.

Which is why he’s _not_  expecting the body that comes crashing into him as he gets ready to round another corner. 

The man is moving fast, too fast for Miles to get out of the way and they slam into each other and then flat on the ground. “ _Fuck,”_ he mutters, trying to catch his breath. The back of his head stings and he thinks he might have whacked it against the sidewalk, the fabric of his beanie doing nothing to soften the blow.

The man is till laying on top of him, curly hair haloed in the yellow streetlight. “Holy shit, dude. I’m sorry! You good?” He pushes himself up with his hands, levering his upper body off of Miles even though their legs are still tangled together. 

“I’m—” Miles groans as he tries to sit up, but the man hasn’t moved so he can’t. “I think I’m okay. You’re laying on me though.”

The guy practically jumps to his feel, laughing nervously. “Yeah I uh, I’m sorry, I just…damn, you’re really cute, you know that?”

Miles moves to stand up and his head spins a little. He stumbles but the guy catches his arm. “I might also be concussed,” he jokes. The guy doesn’t find that funny. Instead he plucks the beanie from Miles’ head and then there are soft fingers probing his scalp. He does his best not to shiver at the contact.

“You’re not bleeding but you do have a bump. I’m so fucking sorry, dude,” the guy says again. “Listen is there—” Loud voices cut through the night air and the guy swears under his breath. He shoves Miles’ beanie on his head and strips off his leather jacket to throw behind a trashcan in a nearby alley.

“What are you—”

The guy pulls at the lapels of Miles’ coat and suddenly they’re much closer than they were before. Miles heart races. “Kiss me, quick!” the guy demands and _what_.

“What—”

“They’re not that smart,” he says. “We can fool them, but just fucking kiss me, okay?” He pulls at Miles until his back is up against the brick wall and Miles is crowding him in. 

“Am I dreaming right now?” Miles asks, no one in particular. The guy laughs and tugs again, pulling Miles impossibly closer. They’re pressed together chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Miles has _got_  to be dreaming. Or unconscious.

“Just kiss me already,” the guys says and dream or not, his lips look fucking delicious so Miles leans in. It starts as just a slow slide, both of their mouth pressing dry against each other but then Miles’ hands act of their own accord and one moves to press at the mystery man’s hip and the other to cradle his neck. It must work for the guy because he gasps, a tiny sound that goes straight to Miles’ head and he deepens the kiss.

There’s a hand on his ass and other on his chest, still gripping at his coat and Miles is dizzy with more than just a head wound. This is by far the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him on a walk but _damn_  if he isn’t enjoying it. The man makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat when Miles’ bites gently at his bottom lip and that it, shows over, Miles’ is going all in. 

It’s been a while since his last hook up, busy with work and trying to be a real adult but whatever this is—this accidental collision on the street at 3 AM—is fucking working for him. The guy pushes his hips forward against Miles’ hand and he relishes in pushing them back again, squeezing until the guy gets the picture that Miles is in control. It seems like he’s into it, to be honest.

They break for air just as a group of thugs come skidding around the corner, looking like they’re on a serious hunt. One of them points a gun at Miles while the mystery guy pants breathlessly against his neck. “We’re looking for someone. A cocky little prick who beat up our friend.”

Miles looks at them, unimpressed. He reaches into his pocket slowly, watching the kids eyes and his finger on the trigger of the gun. The mystery guy is sucking a bruise onto his neck and he fumbles more than once pulling his badge from his pocket. “I’m a little busy here, boys. Why don’t you get the fuck out,” he says, holding up the detective’s shield. “I know some great sketch artists and I’ve got a good fucking memory.” He can feel the guy grinning against his skin.

“Sure thing, _detective_ ,” the guy sneers. He waves his arm and the rest of the lackeys follow behind him as he takes off running again.

“That was close,” the guy murmurs, lifting his head out from Miles’ neck. “A detective, huh?”

“A criminal, huh?” Miles says, just teasing a little.

“Oh, you have no idea,” the guy laughs. He pulls Miles down for another kiss, this one sloppy and wet and just as  _perfect_ as the first. The bruise on Miles’ neck _throbs_. There are hands pushing him away and the guy bends down to pick up his coat. “It was nice meeting you, Detective—”

“Miles Luna,” he answers. “And you?”

The guy leans in and steals one more kiss, a quick peck that still leaves Miles reeling. “Michael. Michael Jones,” he laughs as he disappears into the night.

Miles realizes who that is at about the same time he realizes that the Fake AH Crew’s Mogar just stole his good beanie.


End file.
